Space and Time
by Amber-Raven-Cahill
Summary: "And I hope that you'll understand, but I'm not sorry." In which Amy's not the perfect golden girl everybody thinks she is, and Ian wonders if he's becoming more like his cruel mother.


**A/N Sorry for disappearing off the face of the world. But here's a oneshot to make it up to the rapidly disappearing 39 Clues fandom.**

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><p><strong>1. Space and Time<strong>

"_And I hope that you'll understand, but I'm not sorry."_

Amy pushed past a couple of random relatives, frantically searching for the one person that made her life heaven at times, but also hell. A heavenly hell, she supposed. If only…

If only he would _talk _to her, if he wouldn't _ignore _her, then everything would be fine. But then again, it wasn't his fault completely. This time it was on her.

After a little while, she finally found him. He stood in front of the fire place, back turned to her, the flames dancing around him, cascading down his broken body.

She _knew _how he felt after Natalie died. She, of all people, understood. She understood that he had no one left- no one, that is, except her.

So he was understandably broken when she told him in the heat of an argument that he was "always going to be the son of Isabel Kabra".

Ian knew that Amy was there. After two years of dating, it was hard to not notice the other.

"Ian?" she whispered. The room was devoid of anyone else- they were all mingling and trying to (unsuccessfully) speak to the head of the Madrigal branch, who was, of course, Amy.

She grabbed his arm and turned him to face her.

She wished she hadn't. His face was pure fury, pure anger, and it was all directed to her. A lump of guilt and regret began rolling in her stomach, and it threatened to go up her throat.

"I-I'm so sorry, Ian. I didn't mean it like that."

"I think your meaning was quite obvious," the head of the Lucian branch snapped, bristling at her touch. "You can hardly get clearer than that."

"I only said it in the heat of the moment. You can't possibly believe that I would really mean it. I-"

"DON'T YOU GET IT?" he hissed angrily, twin amber eyes glinting in the light of the fire like two hawks. Ian gripped her wrists in his hands tightly.

It hurt, but she said nothing.

"Save it for the rest of the Cahills, Amy," he muttered. "It's not like they won't believe you. They always do, don't they?"

His unspoken words lingered in the air long after he left. It didn't take half a brain to decipher his cryptic words.

A small, red-haired girl was left standing at the fireplace, watching the flames. Identical bruises circled her thin, pale wrists.

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><p>"Hey Ian! What-" Dan stopped short at the sight of Ian's face. "Whoa. Dude. Calm down a little there. You might just burn down the house," he chuckled to himself.<p>

"I'm leaving." There. He said it. Short and sweet and blunt.

"You're _what_? But what about Amy?"

"You can tell her later. It's… nevermind. I'm going to go collect my things, and then I'll be gone." Ian walked up the stairs to his guest room, the one Amy always reserved for him during those two-hundred-people reunions.

He slammed the door shut, and opened it two minutes and forty-three seconds late.

"Goodbye, Dan," he called from the front door.

"Wait, WHAT? YOU WERE SERIOUS? Hey man, c'mon, you're not-"

"Actually, I am," Ian told him. "I'm going back to London. You may expect me at the next branch meeting." He walked off towards the waiting taxi.

"But… dude, that's, like, six months away!"

"Exactly." His words were carried by the breeze to Amy, hiding at the side of the house.

Amy watched from her window in the house. Just before he got into the cab, he looked up and caught sight of her.

He gave her the last, sad smile she'd see from him for six months.

The cab drove away.

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><p><em><strong>Ding! <strong>_Amy's phone gave out a melancholy-sounding notification. She picked it up, and found a message from Ian:

_Check your desk._

She stared at the cryptic text for a minute, then dropped the phone and ran over to her desk. She pulled out the drawer frantically, and she immediately found a cream envelope. She looked at it for a while. Then she picked it up, went back to her bed and pulled out the letter it contained.

_"I know what I did. I... physically hurt you. But I'm leaving, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. I need this space and I need this time, Amy. Those ten words… those ten words were few but they struck deep. Maybe I am becoming somewhat like her. And for that… for that, I am truly sorry._

_"And I hope that you'll understand, but I'm not sorry for leaving."_

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><p>It was 2am, but Amy Cahill was still staring morosely out the window. Her gaze drifted once again to her wrists, glaring hatefully at the bruises on her wrist. She <em>knew<em> that Ian was angry. She _knew _that, and understood why.

But when he'd gripped her hands so tightly that he'd left marks on her skin, she couldn't help but remember the resemblance to Isabel Kabra.

Ian, who loved her, had still hurt her.

Isabel, who had loved Natalie, had still hurt her.

Maybe Ian was right. Maybe they _both _needed this space; this time apart from each other to reflect on their values, their rights and wrongs.

Would six months be enough to heal simple words and simple actions?

Amy wasn't sure.

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><p>Ian checked his watch. It was roughly 2am, American time. He really should have been asleep. But then again, Kabras- at least, the remaining one- were notorious for their insomnia. Even the smallest little thing could keep them wide awake through the light hours of early morning.<p>

He cringed as he again remembered the dark marks on Amy's wrists. Marks that he'd caused himself. Ian sighed, rubbed his face, and sank back into that moment.

"_DON'T YOU GET IT?" he hissed._

_She didn't even flinch, just stared back at him with pain-filled eyes. Guilt swelled up inside of him, but the anger made him unswayable. _

"_Save it for the rest of the Cahills, Amy," he muttered. "It's not like they won't believe you. They always do, don't they?"_

The Lucian head winced yet again, but reliving the moment and letting himself feel the guilt was always better than locking his feelings away, like he'd done before.

It had been the Madrigal head who unlocked that drawer and taught him how to live.

She'd done that for two years. Two whole years, before the peace was shattered. Well. It wasn't a surprise, he supposed. It was bound to happen. He just didn't think that it would happen in such a fashion.

Such a _cruel_ fashion.

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><p><strong>AN There will be a twoshot. ****Review if you liked this!**


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